


Eight Steps to a Flawed and Yet Ultimately Perfect Relationship (Why Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are inescapable, no matter how they might fight it)

by Catsintheattic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aurors, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Harry/Draco Last Drabble Writer Standing, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-29
Updated: 2010-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:36:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsintheattic/pseuds/Catsintheattic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the prompts of slythindor100's first round of the Harry/Draco Last Drabble Writer Standing contest, I wrote those eight drabbles while the contest was running. While the participants were encouraged to write unrelated drabbles to stay anonymous, I decided that I would write all drabbles in present tense, from Draco's POV, set in an AU that assumed they started to become Aurors after the war ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watching, Waiting, Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: STEP ONE “I hate that I want you.”  
> ... where they sober up and realise that they are lonely, horny and desperate, and that they are obsessing over someone other than themselves.
> 
> Required word count: 100 to 300 words

Every morning, Draco gets up and prepares himself for another day of watching Potter. 

Every day, his list of Potter’s annoying habits grows longer.

Potter has messy hair.

Potter wears ridiculous clothes.

Potter still owns the same horrible glasses he wore all through school.

Not to mention his ugly scar.

Draco hates the chaos on Potter’s desk.

Draco hates his awkward gesturing whenever Potter gives a speech in Auror class.

Draco hates the way Potter’s shirt rides up to reveal a stretch of pale stomach when Potter readies himself to throw the final blow in duelling practice.

He wants to fight Potter until the triumphant shine lighting up those green eyes goes out.

It’s the thought that makes Draco tremble with need, every night at home in his dingy London flat. 

It’s the thought to which he wanks himself raw, picturing Potter’s skin decorated with bruises and a lazy trickle of blood dripping from Potter’s lower lip. 

It should make him come on the spot. 

And yet, release doesn’t find Draco until he imagines that the hand flying over his dick is Potter’s hand, until he aches all over for _more, please, more_ and Potter continues to touch him, too gently, too slowly, almost as if Draco’s release doesn’t matter, but then it does and Potter twists his hand _just so_ , like he knows exactly what Draco wants and needs. And when Potter dips his tongue into Draco’s ear, his breath crashes over Draco like the waves of the ocean, all-encompassing, never-ending. 

Every morning, Draco prepares himself for another day of fighting against Potter, fighting with Potter, fighting for Potter, fighting side by side.

Every night, Draco loses. And knows he always will.


	2. Relativity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: STEP TWO "Fuck me, fix me"  
> ... where they come to believe that by convincing the other to have sex with them, and turning their mind and body over to the other's care, they can somehow be 'fixed'.
> 
> Required word count: between 200 and 299 words

It hurts. 

It hurts – and not in a good way. Potter’s grip on Draco’s skin is too hard, the burn of penetration is too deep, and the frantic rhythm of their fucking is too fast, too irregular, stuttering like a badly oiled carriage pulled by a panicking Thestral. 

And yet Draco digs his fingers into Potter’s hips, forcing him inside deeper, rutting against him faster, breaking whatever rhythm they might find. Draco relishes the burning, the stinging, the pain. The moment before Potter slows down is the moment Draco will urge him on again. 

Afterwards, when Draco’s breathing has just slowed down to a soft panting, he feels the touch of Potter’s hand on his shoulder.

Draco shrugs it away and turns onto his stomach. 

“Fuck me again. And stop pretending I’m a girl.” 

It is an invitation that will never cease to lure Potter into action. Not long and Draco feels new pain bleeding into previous aches. Every motion a new sensation, a new reminder of being alive.

Living with the Dark Lord under his parents' roof, Draco had thought that he would prefer numbness over pain.

It is Potter who teaches him that pain is better than feeling nothing at all.


	3. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: STEP THREE “You’re great in bed, but you’re still an arse.”  
> ... where they convince themselves that sex is enough, and the heart's involvement isn’t necessary.
> 
> Required word count: 100 to 200 words

It should be enough.

The friction. The panting. The overwhelming feeling of taking and being taken.

Draco slams into Harry – upgraded from _Potter_ a few weeks back, that night they were too drunk to fuck and had to make do with more drinking and a few slurred comments on each other’s lives. 

“Call m’ Harry.” Potter sloshed Firewisky against Draco’s glass. 

The name burned Draco’s mouth, like the hot liquid that ran down his throat. 

It still feels strange when he is forced to say it, not like _Pansy_ or _Greg_. Not like Potter is a friend. 

But not like Potter is a mere acquaintance any more, either.

It scares the shit out of Draco. He must not think or talk about how _much_ exactly; all he can do is start another round of fucking. 

Draco feels Potter’s gaze on his face, studying him. 

He puts on all the haughtiness he can muster. “Stop staring, Scarface.”

The tiny twitch beneath Potter’s left eye betrays that Draco’s comment has hit home. 

“Do you have to be such an arse about it?” Potter dons his clothes and leaves without looking back.

Draco knows he should be angry, or relieved. He is neither.


	4. Parley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: STEP FOUR “Enough with this.”  
> ... where they sabotage themselves by pointing out the other's character defects whenever possible, fighting, and breaking up …
> 
> Required word count: exactly 250 words

One casual remark towards Weasley is all it takes and Potter comes flying to the rescue.

“You haven’t changed at all. You’re still a self-serving bigot. All your oh-so-noble charity activities are nothing but a pretence.”

Draco does not answer right away. His anger is far beyond words.

Self-righteous. Always willing to blame no one but Draco. As if Weasel would ever try to get along. Draco has stopped calling Granger _Mudblood_ , but that, of course, goes unnoticed. Potter is still ready to assume the worst of Draco.

He rages on. “Admit it. You have nothing to say in your defence.”

Draco sneers. “Why waste my breath? You’ve already condemned me, haven’t you?”

Potter moves his hands through the air in the throw-away gesture that he usually reserves for reporters of the _Prophet_.

“As if you’d have anything to say if not for me. Cut the crap.” He narrows his eyes. “You’re just too afraid of facing the truth.” Potter breathes heavily, almost as if fighting with Draco takes effort. 

Draco snorts. Nothing Potter does will ever cost him.

“If you’d take a good look at yourself, you’d realise that you’re the same bloody coward you were all through school.”

There is more than one person Potter has called a coward. Draco is in good company.

“If that’s how you see it, then ...” Draco does not finish his sentence. He shrugs and walks away, ignoring the burning in his stomach.

It would never have worked out between them anyway.


	5. The Language of Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: STEP FIVE “Forgive me, heal me.”  
> Where they get back together for more sex (of the “I’m sorry, please forgive me” variety)
> 
> Required word count: 300 to 450 words

Potter’s skin carries a maze of scars, and Draco maps them out whenever they fuck in the satin sheets of another over-expensive hotel bed paid with Potter’s galleons.

The scar on Potter’s forehead is the most famous. But it makes Potter special to everyone; it doesn’t speak exclusively to Draco, and so, after a fleeting glance, he moves on.

The scar on the back of Potter’s right hand reminds Draco of Potter’s stubborn insistence that he owns the truth and defines it, and that the truth is about choosing black or white. There are no greys to hide behind in Potter’s world. Draco traces the fading ridges with wary fingertips, knowing they accuse him of mixed loyalties, or worse, of being loyal only to himself and to his own. 

The next scar is the burn mark on Potter’s ankle, where Fiendfyre demons tore into his flesh while Potter was racing them both to safety. The skin is always hot, and Draco licks and blows over it, soothing it gently. It reminds Draco of how much he owes to Potter: his life, his freedom, his redemption. It also reminds him that Potter does nothing by halves.

The scars on Potter’s chest were made by Draco. One night, while getting ready to fuck after one of their more serious fights, Potter put a knife into Draco’s hand, placed the blade against the skin beneath his own collar-bone, and pressed down until it drew blood. Draco’s hand shook with incredulous fear, and Potter told him to hold steady while he slowly lifted his hands away from Draco’s, giving Draco free reign of the knife. Draco still remembers the sweet, metallic smell of blood, the powerful tremor that accompanied Potter’s release, and the sharp after-taste of satisfaction in his mouth. The staggering white line speaks of Potter’s sense of justice, and how something between them will always be about getting even. It also made Draco realise that he will never be able to surpass either Potter’s boldness, or his trust.

Yet Draco continues. 

If he worships Potter’s scars often and honestly, if he listens to them closely and manages to decipher their meaning, he might forget his own scars: the long slash on his chest and the deep cuts on his left forearm, and the other ones that run under his skin; the ones that speak of old enmities and forsaken loyalties, and the ones that whisper of recent losses and a forbidden future. 

If Potter lets Draco succeed, they might look past injury and pain. They might build a foundation more stable than satin sheets. And, one day, instead of fucking Potter, Draco might actually make love to Harry.


	6. Line of Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: STEP SIX “It’s your fault I can’t love you.”  
> Where they make a list of all the things the other is doing wrong, making every effort to make them feel permanently inadequate and the one who is to blame. 
> 
> Required word count: 450 words

The hall is hot, air thick from people sweating in obedient silence. Potter reaches for Draco’s hand, but stops at the tiniest twist of Draco’s upper lip. He keeps throwing looks at Draco. The Minister drones on about how the Aurors will carry society into a brighter future. _As if._ Draco stifles a snort when Potter’s hair brushes his cheek.

“Dying of thirst.” Potter nips Draco’s neck playfully.

Draco twitches as if chasing away an annoying fly. His stomach knots. Potter knows how much he hates these displays. Potter can’t sit through a meeting without touching Draco. Like it isn’t enough that their entire world gossips about Harry Potter’s latest conquest. 

Their affair has been all over the _Prophet_. How, after coming out last autumn, Potter ditched his then-boyfriend, Oliver Wood. Whether Potter’s choice is down to recent riots that killed many former Death Eaters, Malfoy’s father included. Why Potter must dominate in that strange relationship. Office gossips bet on how long it will last.

Potter brushes Draco’s neck again, now with a light caress. Draco _wants_ to lean into Potter’s touch. But he can feel the stares.

The speech ends with polite applause. The second people start to mingle, Draco heads towards the garden. Fresh air hits his face. He inhales deeply.

“Hey, wait!” Too soon, Potter catches up, grabs Draco’s shoulders. Spins him around, laughing.

“Stop putting on a show for everybody!” Draco snaps.

Potter stares, incredulous. “Why do you let them affect you so much?”

Potter refuses to see: While he can do as he pleases, Draco is on a tight leash.

“It’s almost ... like you think what we have isn’t worth fighting for.”

Draco’s stomach clenches again. There. His last exit, while he can still pretend minimal damage. 

He takes two backward steps. “Come on! We fuck. I’m sick of you making us the target of all those articles with your ... affections.” He sneers the last word.

A wild array of emotions tumbles over Potter’s face: disbelief, hurt, anger, then the determination he is most famous for. “You’re not serious.”

Draco crosses his arms. “I am.” He says nothing more. It is safer. 

“I never asked those reporters to write about us. People gossip. So what? This is insane!”

It is. 

Draco shrugs. “You should’ve thought of that before.”

“You’d rather hide?”

If he doesn’t leave, he will puke all over Potter’s shoes. “I asked you – but you can’t be bothered with what I want.” 

Potter’s teeth show. It isn’t a smile. “So this is it? You stupid arse. I’d better request a new partner.”

“Do that.” 

With a grim nod, Potter is gone.

Apparating on an upset stomach is stupid. Draco does anyway.


	7. Vertigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: STEP SEVEN “It’s my fault I nearly lost your forever.”  
> ... when on the verge of losing the other permanently, a moment of clarity occurs where they see that they were wrong, showing love through action (outside of the bedroom) and showing up for the relationship (what a concept!).
> 
> Required word count: 100 to 200 words

Draco is over the verge, but not quite. “Come on. Fuck me already, Potter.”

Potter stills. Wipes his hands. Stands. “I don’t think so.”

There. This is it. 

Draco has forgotten – again – that this is not just about him, but about Potter as well. _You won’t even use my name._

Draco has practised saying _Harry, Potter_ , intent on only speaking the first word aloud. 

But every time _Harry_ dies on his tongue, and Draco calls him _Potter_. As if nothing ever changed between them. As if he is just another meaningless fuck. Potter usually shrugs it away. 

Not this time.

Draco can tell from the tension in those neatly muscled shoulders, from the way Potter refuses to look at him, that this time is different. 

This time, they won’t even fight. Potter is going to walk out on him.

“I’m ... sorry. I forgot.”

“Not good enough.” Potter’s eyes are green with fury. 

Draco’s heart races; his tongue is dry against his palate. He has to say it. He doesn’t want to lose Potter – and where has that need come from?

“Don’t go. Please. Harry.” Draco adds _Potter_ in his thoughts, and that helps.

Then, he waits.


	8. Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: STEP EIGHT “Accepting myself was the key to loving you.”  
> Where they have had something of a spiritual reckoning. They have forgiven and learned how to love themselves… now they can love each other...
> 
> Required word count: 100 words

“I want—” 

“What?” shoots Draco, afraid of words like _my freedom_ or _Ginny_ or _out_.

“This.” Harry gestures, arms wide open. “You. Us.”

They dealt every blow, suffered all the pain. They’re still here. They fight and kiss and make up and – tacitly – they endure. Trust Harry to surprise Draco when Draco is not ready for what he desires most. 

“I can’t promise you tomorrow,” Draco blurts. “Today … I can do today.” Harry will certainly bolt. 

Instead, he smiles. 

Draco tilts his head. “Good enough?”

Harry’s smile broadens. “Just fine.”

And _today_ lasts – through all of their tomorrows.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to celta_diabolica for the wonderful beta and her sharp pair of scissors to make the word count and to vaysh11 for adding a fresh perspective.


End file.
